


Princesa

by hackson_hatsoff



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hackson_hatsoff/pseuds/hackson_hatsoff
Summary: Sombra's not jealous. There's no possible way.





	Princesa

It’d never bothered Sombra too much that McCree eventually answered the recall. He’s his own man, after all. Though she’d never pegged him as the type to want to relive “the glory days”. It all seemed too sentimental for him.

He’d been on all sorts of missions and tasks. Undercover work was nothing new to the man and neither was it for her. Dishonest charm and unfounded interest in strangers were all part of the package and it was hardly an issue for either of them, even finding amusement in some of the situations they found themselves in. Nights consisting of staying up late and laughing at said stories are some her fondest memories with the gunslinger.

No matter how close Sombra grew to McCree, the prospect of jealousy never came up; she was just too smart to get emotional over stupid things like fake flirting and sleeping with someone for the sake of a job.

Currently, he was on such undercover work. With help from an “anonymous” source, ragtag Overwatch managed to find out about a possible Talon attack on the Royal Family from a country whose progressive ideals toward Omnics was becoming…troublesome for the terrorist organization. And the ‘monkey’ decided it best to send out a few agents to help out with security, at least until the Talon assassins were weeded out. McCree was picked for the group assigned to the task, having been sent out nearly two months ago. The night they separated, they parted on a sweet note; a quiet evening filled with whisky-laced kisses and hushed conversation. 

 

Sombra didn’t miss him - at least, she had no reason to. He would come back to her, stubborn like a wild mustang. And absence makes the heart grow fonder, as the old saying went. She might’ve even deduced that reunion were undoubtedly the best part of their relationship for her. The hacker busied herself with cracking files and finding new targets around the world that would very much get in the way of her goals. So when news broke out of an assassination attempt on one of the royal family members being thwarted, she wasn’t surprised, though it sent a traitorous rush of excitement through her veins. In any case, that meant he’d be returning, the goosebumps rising on her skin in reaction to imagining another reunion, and everything that entailed. 

In celebration for a job well done, she figured some tequila would be a nice surprise for him to come back to, a bottle of Don Julio Real now a happy weight in her bag as she walked home. No matter how long it took him to return, she and the tequila would be waiting. While she made the trek back, her eyes caught sight of a discarded paper on a nearby bench. Normally she received all her news through the internet but she didn’t mind actually reading something on paper every now and then. Sombra took a seat, setting her bag down carefully and grabbed the paper, glancing at the back. Realizing it was a tabloid, she groaned, but didn’t put it back down again. Despite not actually being news worth considering, a bit of _chisme_ never hurt anyone. Deciding to indulge herself, she finally turned the paper over, only then seeing the picture on the cover. He may have had his hair actually combed and his facial hair groomed for once…but there was no mistaking those eyes and dumb, irritably attractive face. Jesse McCree.

And there was another woman kissing him.

 _Cálmate, Olivia_ , Sombra chided herself, even though it felt like she really wanted to crush the flimsy pages of the paper in her hands. _She’s just kissing him on the cheek_.

Yes, but the question was who? Why?

“Princess saved from assassination - thanks bodyguard in secrecy. New addition to the Royal Family soon?” read the headline in bold, ugly yellow font. What a stupid title, though she knew that’s what tabloids were known for. It certainly caught her attention. Now that she looked at the picture (and even that left her with an uneasy feeling in her gut), paparazzi must’ve taken the photo, since McCree and whom she assumed was the Princess were sitting on a stone bench in what appeared to be a garden. The woman was leaning close to him, hands on his arm and looking like she’d pulled him down to plant that kiss on his cheek. 

Ah, Sombra could see it now - the stupid image forcibly replaying in her head, like someone was pressing rewind over and over. And McCree, the fool, would probably be too nice to do anything about it. Besides, what could he tell her? He was undercover, along with the other agents he’d tagged along with. More importantly…what was waiting for him? It’s not like they were actually together or anything, more like friends with benefits. That’s the way it’d been between them for a long time - the way it should be. What else could a gunslinging hero be to a wanted criminal? 

Shaking her head, Sombra tossed the paper aside, snatching her bag and continuing her walk home, eager to get back and do something to get this garbage off her mind. To think that she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t keep tabs on McCree out of…respect of being his -ugh- friend. She knew it was well within her power to track him but as a genuine desire to break out of the habit, at least with him, she tried not to, no matter how tempting. And look what happened - she takes her eyes off someone for one second and then there’s tabloids floating everywhere mocking her lack of diligence. Her chest heaved with her breathing, despite not walking any faster than usual. 

No, she reminded herself, frowning. It doesn’t matter; what he does doesn’t concern you. 

Right. It didn’t concern her. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. 

Arriving at her place, Sombra took the usual precautions of gaining access before slipping inside and securely locking the door behind her. As she bent down to take off her sandals, she stopped midway, looking around her small room of a home. Well, it was certainly no royal palace, not with its weathered wooden beams and cracked brick walls. But dammit, she was the princess of this place. 

Oh yes, a princess, she thought while glancing down at her random, flimsy tank top, ripped shorts, and scuffed sandals. A princess of dilapidation, maybe. 

With a grunt, she kicked her sandals off, not caring where they landed and nearly slammed the bag down onto the table when she passed it by, nearly forgetting the bottle of Don Julio inside. She marched toward her bathroom, shrugging all her clothes off in the process. Stepping into the shower, Sombra jerked the cold water faucet on, wanting something to quell the nasty burn of irrational anger bottling up inside her. But no matter how cold the water got, the freezing drops pelting against her skin did little to distract her from that photo’s image blaring in her mind. 

A few minutes into her shower (and pity fest), she heard the sound of a door closing and her body stiffened. If anyone had forced their way in, an alarm would’ve sounded to let her know the moment her systems were being trifled with. So obviously this was someone who found her and who knew how to bypass her security. Cursing, her worst fears were coming to fruition. Leaving the water running, she grabbed a towel, quickly wrapping it around her soaking frame and digging under the hamper to take out her spare pistol. Without her suit, cloaking was impossible so she’d have to use force. With a quick check on the magazine well, Sombra stood, pressing herself against the wall next to the door and listened for any sounds. There were thuds of footsteps, though it sounded like only one pair. Good. 

Taking a breath, Sombra held up her pistol and turned to kick the door open, pointing her weapon straightforward, eyes scanning the area directly in front, only to find the trespasser. 

“Whoa, easy there, darlin’, I know it’s been a while but surely that ain’t reason enough to shoot a man?” 

In her paranoia and anger, Sombra completely forgot the only person she trusted enough to have access to bypass her security was the damn cowboy-wannabe. Feeling foolish (and suddenly very chilled), she lowered her gun and rattled a sigh. “Dammit, McCree.” 

He looked confused at her response, not that she blamed him. Sombra merely grunted and gestured to the bed while she walked over to another hamper to grab some clean clothes. 

“Rough day? Not that I don’t appreciate the view,” came McCree’s voice. 

She turned, seeing him eyeing her discarded clothes thrown about the floor toward the bathroom. Sighing, she dug out a shirt and some capris, quickly pulling them on and throwing her wet towel aside.

“Yeah. You could say that,” Sombra murmured, making her way to the bed and sit down next to him. His weight kept him from shifting around too much but the force she placed behind her action did startle him.

“Anyway,” McCree began, appearing hesitant at first. “I brought something that ya might like.” He reached over the side of the bed, grabbing a bag which held a few chilled Heineken bottles. “Figured a night of drinkin’ with my favorite person would be the best way to celebrate a job well done.”

From the way his arm wrapped around her waist, she figured he planned on doing something else other than drink to celebrate. She scoffed. _“Ay, sí_ …job well done… _mira mira_ … ”

The $300 tequila sitting on her table would go ignored; it’d be a waste to waste good tequila on a foul mood, so cheap beer it was. 

Sombra stood, grabbing the bag out of his hands and walked over to her kitchenette, looking for her bottle opener. As she searched, she heard McCree’s footsteps behind her, when his arms wrapped around her and he leaned down to rest his head near hers. 

“Missed ya somethin’ fierce,” he mumbled, putting a small kiss to her shoulder.

She snorted, finally finding the bottle opener. “Something tells me you were in _good_ -” she emphasized the word as she forced a bottle open. “-company, McCree.” She knew what he wanted but quite honestly she was not in the mood - not if the image of him getting cozy with a princess was still flashing in her mind. “Maybe even of the royal kind.” 

His arms slipped off her frame and she sighed internally, knowing her attitude wasn’t helping any. He was here with her, right? What did it matter what happened on the job? Why was this so different than any other times he’s had to lie to people? What she didn’t expect was to feel his arms grasp her hips instead, forcing her around to face him.

“If you’ve got somethin’ t’say, then say it.” McCree leveled her with a firm stare, though he didn’t appear angry or concerned, rather frighteningly neutral. She both admired and hated that about him. 

She sighed, suddenly feeling drained. Grabbing the opened bottle, Sombra tossed her head back, taking large gulps of the beer until the bottle was half full. “ _No soy una princesa_ , McCree.” 

The gunslinger was quiet and she wished he’d just respond already - yell at her or something, so she could yell back and she could go to bed already. She’d barely done anything that day and already she felt a headache developing. 

“Tch. Lemme guess, you saw them pictures, too?” 

So he was aware. Sombra gave a half shrug. “I saw them floating around.” Picture **s**? So there were more? Great. 

“Yeah, the lady fancied me but it ain’t like I’m gonna shove her off when there’s paparazzi everywhere.” McCree pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bad enough they got a picture o’ me, last thing I needed was an even worse scandal than some damn kiss, already had enough o’ that when she told her family she wanted to marry the ‘bodyguard.’ ‘Wanted to get outta there as soon as possible after I found out.” 

No matter how rational his words sounded, there was still some irrational part of her brain telling her it was just too convenient. 

It was McCree’s turn to sigh as he rubbed his neck. “I ain’t no knight in shining armor and I don’t wanna be one. No need t’be jealous, darlin’.” 

Jealous. Yes, she supposed that what it was. Didn’t hurt her pride any less to hear it confirmed, though. Her eye twitched and she refused to look at him. “ _Callate_.” 

“Ya can’t blame the girl too much now…can’t help that I was the best lookin’ fella she’d ever seen,” he joked, tone sly. 

Idiot. Yet Sombra found herself grinning. “It’s obvious she didn’t realize what a disaster you actually are.” 

“Yep, that’s me - King of Disaster.” Just as she turned her head to face him again, he bent down to quickly grab her, holding her in his arms. “Besides, what’s a King need a princess for-” he began, carrying her to her bed, ignoring her curses as the beer spilled from her bottle. “-when he’s got a Queen waiting for him?” 

It might’ve just been the effect of drinking a bit too quickly but the familiar smirk plastered on his face seemed far more endearing than usual. Sombra leaned forward, free hand gripping his chin and scratching the scruff of his beard; so much better than that groomed crap in that photo. Maybe that princess fell in love with a fairy tale lie but she found she preferred the wild truth so much more. 

“Charmer,” she accused, though there was no bite behind her words. “If we’re going to be royalty then let’s at least drink like it.” 

He raised a brow and she winked, getting off the bed and moving to grab two glasses and the tequila. When she lifted the bottle, McCree’s eyebrows rose. 

“Ya didn’t!” 

“I did. Figured I’d surprise you _o lo que sea_.” She settled back down on his lap, warm and inviting, letting him have the honors of opening it. 

Carefully, he poured them each a glass and set the bottle down. “This is amazing,” he said as they clicked their glasses together. “ _You’re_ amazing.” 

Sombra smirked into her glass, sipping her beverage and savoring its taste, made all the more rich with the company she had, she believed. 

“Nothing less for the King and Queen of disaster,” she said, looking forward to another memorable night of tequila-laced kisses.


End file.
